


Color Me Stupid

by lalazee



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AKA they fucks they really do fucks quite a lot, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, explicit sexual content to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: “I don’t evenknowyou -”“At least get a man’s name before I facefuck them with a Nokia, that’s what I always say. I’m Richie. Richie Tozier.”“Eddie.”“It’s been an absolute pleasure.”“You’vegotto be kidding me.”“You keep saying that, but I assure you I am almost always kidding.”“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re fucking insane.Thisis insane. I’m sorry about your face -”“Don’t worry, I get that a lot."-------------------------It's 2001 and Richie gets hit in the face by a Nokia 3390, because that's what all the cool kids are doing, right?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 23
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samansucks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samansucks/gifts).



> _i've been waiting a lifetime / for this moment to come  
>  i'm destined for anything at all  
> dumbstruck / color me stupid  
> good luck... you're gonna need it_  
> -Green Day, circa 2000

You know how the old saying goes.

You never forget your first time.

The first time you get hit in the face with a Nokia.

Turns out it hurts a fuckload as Richie ends up flat on his ass, the merciless linoleum floor of the corridor making sure he feels it right down to the damn butt bones. If there are bones in such a place. He’s really not sure.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Some guy is shrieking and scrambling up to him, falling to his knees before him, tan hands fluttering around as Richie gropes the ground for his fucking glasses. “I am _so_ sorry, I had no idea someone was there and I just -”

“What the fuck, man?” Richie squints at the blurred vision of General Face Area. “I might not be an expert on cellphone usage but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t _work like that_. And also - _OW_?”

“No, I know, I know,” the guy babbles, “it’s just that there was a spider on my phone and when I saw it just lost my fucking shit and - oh my _god_ , your glasses. I’m _so sorry_.”

“I can’t see them yet but the fact that you’re apologizing about them is enough for the foreboding to set in,” Richie says, reaching out to snatch the thick black frames he can make out in the guy’s hand. Wordlessly he holds them up and a little piece of his heart snaps in two when he realizes they too are fucking _snapped_. Not only snapped, but one lens splintered. 

“Are you okay? Your eye is bruising, I think.”

Richie squints at the guy and doesn’t see much but for the fuzz of his face and the fact that he’s wearing light blue. Richie hasn’t been able to see clearly a foot past his face since he was eight.

“You owe me for these,” is all Richie says as he groans to his feet and throws his ancient patched and buttoned messenger bag over his shoulder.

“ _Owe_ you?” The guy sounds shocked, which - like _he_ has the right, right? Richie had literally shut the door behind him and turned his head only to be assaulted by the equivalent weight of a brick out of _nowhere_. “Wh- don’t you have an extra pair of glasses?”

“An extra pair of glasses? Who am I, Paris Hilton?” Richie tucks the twisted wreckage away in the front pocket of his banana printed shirt. “That shit costs, man.”

“Contacts?”

“I don’t touch my eyes. Eyes are gross.”

“How can they be gross? They’re in your own face.”

“Yeah and your shit comes out your ass but you’re not rolling in it. Or are you? I mean, we barely know each other, no need to explain our kinks just yet but I won’t lie when I say that’s kind of a deal breaker -”

“You’re disgusting,” the guy snaps, and the blur of his relatively short body moves to place hands on hips. The more Richie squints, the more he realizes the guy is in a full Adidas tracksuit, baby blue with white stripes down the sides and pristine white sneakers to match. Richie grins his most infuriating, unflinching grin in the wake of the rising decibel of the chatterbox. “And anyway, _everyone_ should have an extra pair of glasses. In fact, you should have _three_ of everything. Having two of something is like having none of it. If your second one breaks then it’s game over.” 

“Well, thanks to you it’s game over _now_ , and I didn’t even get a save point before the big fight of Baby Blue Tracksuit Boss & his Nokia bazooka.”

“There was a _spider_ on it!”

“So hurling it into the sun was your first and only option?”

“I wasn’t exactly putting thought into ethical disposal of giant fucking spiders but I’ll take it up with PETA next time I see them if it makes you stop whining.”

“ _Whining_?” Richie realizes it’s just past nine in the morning and they are two strangers yelling in the hallway, but what the actual fuck? Since when did this become about him? He is the victim here, not this high pitched freak. “ _You_ hit _me_!”

“BECAUSE OF THE SPIDER, DUMBASS, OH MY GOD. DID YOUR GLASSES TAKE TOUR HEARING TOO?”

“If only it had so I would have to suffer the octave of your voice, Baby Blue.” 

The guy scoffs and has the gall to seem to be checking his ugly ass phone as he speaks.

“Oh, fuck off. I already apologized like twenty times.”

“And yet my glasses remain broken as your mom’s bed when I’m done with her for the night.”

Baby Blue’s silence is more palpable than his screaming, the dark hole of his face clearly a jaw dropped before he shakes his head.

“Holy shit, everything that comes out of your mouth is _trash_ , isn’t it? I mean, I’ve only had the distinctive displeasure of talking to you for ten minutes, but the hallway is practically a garbage dump at this point.”

“You like? I can talk dirtier if you w- _hey_ , you can’t just walk away from me! I’m basically blind without my glasses!”

Baby Blue holds a hand up in a fuzzy wave, his voice growing distant.

“Well, I can’t pay you back! I’m poor!”

“So neither of us are Paris Hilton,” Richie yells, cupping his hands around his mouth _and_ following in quick pursuit. “I feel like you especially are sad about that. Do you have that outfit in pink velour?”

The guy whirls and Richie wishes he could see what his face was really like. He suspects livid, but just what brand, he can’t be sure. He’s pretty fucking funny to push around, though.

“No, you haven’t let me borrow it from you yet. What do you want with me?” 

“Aside from riches, fame, and one of those monogrammed cursive necklaces of your name that all the cute girls are wearing? Obviously, I want you to be my eyes for the day.”

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me,” Baby Blue stresses, his voice tight. “I have classes!”

Richie makes a _durr_ face and noise.

“So do I. Classes where I need to take, y’know, _notes_ and shit.”

“I don’t even _know_ you -”

“At least get a man’s name before I facefuck them with a Nokia, that’s what I always say. I’m Richie. Richie Tozier.”

“Eddie.”

“It’s been an absolute pleasure.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“You keep saying that, but I assure you I am almost always kidding.”

“ _What_ ?” Eddie replies, not missing a beat. He’s yet to trip up over Richie’s blatantly infuriating personality and it’s kind of almost impressive. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re fucking insane. _This_ is insane. I’m sorry about your face -”

“Don’t worry, I get that a lot -”

“But can’t you just, like, tape them together? I have a class in twenty minutes.”

Richie laughs in Eddie’s face outright.

“Uh, they’re not broken down the middle, in case you hadn’t noticed. Unless you want me to go to class holding up one side of my glasses like a fucking monocle -”

“I feel like that would suit you, somehow.”

“I mean, no doubt. No doubt. But take notes while holding said monocle? Troublesome, to say the least.”

Eddie sighs, arms folded across his body. Glasses or not, Richie can tell his petite, but his features are still basically a muddy blank. Long face, dark features and hair. 

“Richie…”

“Listen, Eds -”

“Eddie.”

“Spaghetti. Ha, see what I did there?”

“Jesus fucking _Christ_.”

“I won’t make you pay me back, but you’ve gotta do the thing for me, today. Come to class with me. Take my notes, be my sexy assistant. Maybe get yourself a nice pair of heels -”

“Unless the heels are for gouging out my own eyes at this point, I don’t think they’ll be needed.”

Richie cracks a wide grin and bursts into motion, giving Eddie a light punch in the shoulder that literally makes the guy go _EEK_.

“So you’ll do it?”

“Ugh.” Eddie’s arms flop out to the sides, his body language clear resignation. “I mean, I _guess_. It’s - it’s my fault after all, and it’s only the second day of school and you’re already without glasses -”

“Damn, you're good at guilting yourself. It’s almost like I don’t even have to do it myself.”

“Shut up, dumbass.” The shove to Richie’s arm comes as a surprise. Not the violence, but the way Eddie is like a secret gremlin doing a really shitty job of hiding it. “I’ll take your damn notes for you. But _only_ today. After that, you need to find a way to right this wrong.”

“Right _your_ wrong, you mean,” Richie says with a pointed, smug smile as they descend the two flights of stairs together.

“I - _yes_. I feel bad, okay?! Jesus, you’re obnoxious.”

“I know you do, it’s adorable, I could just squish your cheeks -”

This time little Eddie body checks Richie at the base of the stairs as he mutters and beelines for the building doors.

“Try and die.”

Richie stumbles, laughing all the way as he jogs to catch up.

_Feisty_.

Richie brushes his arm against Eddie’s shoulder as they emerge into the fresh early autumn air. 

“Walk with me. Link your arm with me -”

“Hell no.”

“Where do they grow guys like you, anyway?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You wanna start something? Anyway, that’s none of your business.”

“I don’t know. You’re the first dude I’ve had a real conversation with since I got here.”

Eddie doesn’t reply for a while as they meander the sidewalks leading toward the lecture halls. Finally, he sighed.

“Yeah, same here. I mean, aside from my roommate, and he’s just my friend from home, so -”

“Same. See, look at the bright side of things. Consider this networking.”

“Blunt force trauma on strangers is not networking.”

“Listen, everything is socialization if your standards are low enough.”

“Personal motto?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. You should try it sometime.”

“I feel like I’ve already seen enough and I’m not impressed.”

Richie has no idea what this kid looks like but he’s fucking hilarious and totally unflinching in the face of Richie’s horrible jokes and even his better ones.

“Tough nut to crack, eh? That’s fine, my thighs are like steel. I could snap a man in half with them.”

Eddie scoffs and _that_ gets a short snort of laughter out of him.

“You look like a walking beansprout. No offence.”

“We can’t all look like the obligatory pretty boy band member, Eddie. Somebody has to be the mediocre opening band. I would know, I’m in one.”

“I am _not_ pretty,” Eddie snaps. “Can you even see me?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“Dumbass. Which way is your class, anyway?”

“Oh.” Richie stops and looks around, the world a kind of delightful blur of shape and color that makes him feel a little drunk. “I don’t know. Never been yet.”

“Oh, for fuck’s _sake_ , Richie!”

Turns out, Eddie is the kind of nutcase who sits front and center of class, and although he’s the one copying the board and listening intently, every time Richie allows his head to lull and his eyes to fall shut, he receives a vicious kick to the shins and a hiss of displeasure at his behavior. The entire experience is a lot less fun or lazy than he had assumed it was going to be, but at least day two of college isn’t mind-numbingly boring as day one.

He needs to party. Really fucking bad. And he has a sneaking suspicion that goody two shoes here is the last person to ask about under the radar activities. 

“Alright,” Eddie says as he packs Richie’s own notebooks in his ratty messenger bag, and isn’t that adorably dutiful. “While this has been… an _experience_ , I’ll be heading off -”

“Wait.” Richie pouts. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Eddie laughs nervously, choked-off and riddled with more anxiety than a shaking chihuahua. 

“To - to my next class? I thought we were done here.”

“No way, man!” Richie stumbles to his feet with more flare and drama than strictly necessary. “I’ll _die_ crossing the campus if I don’t have help! And anyway, I’m hungry, Eds, _hungry_. Aren’t you? You’re too tiny. Put some meat on those bones. Lead me to the cafeteria, Spaghetti Man.”

Eddie has his lips pressed shut and is making a screaming noise in his throat before he gasps for breath and dives in.

“I swear to _god_ , Richie, if you’re fucking me around right now -”

“Me?” Richie gawks, both hands pressed to his chest. “Have you _met_ me? I’m a goddamn Boy Scout.”

“As much as Adam Sandler was a Boy Scout, sure.”

“Oh man, that was the best skit.” Richie shoulders his bag once more and tugs on Eddie’s arm, earning a slap on the wrist which he good-naturedly allows and removes his hand as they stroll down the hall. “You watch SNL? I didn’t peg you for funny. I mean you’re fucking hysterical, but mostly at the cost of yourself. But then again you like _me_ so -”

“I never said I liked you,” Eddie bites off, and throws his entire body against the building doors like he’s dying to be free.

“Yeah, but you’re _here_ , so -”

“Only because of your stupid _monocle_ situation, believe me.”

“Right, of course. A man with a monocle often pulls pity from people, true facts.”

There’s a second strangled laugh, like Eddie can’t bear it himself, and Richie only smiles at his blurred profile. Maybe getting hit in the face really is a good way to insinuate yourself into social situations.

“You’re unreal. Also, you’ve got a bruise under your eye.”

“That’s hot. It’s hot, right?”

“As much as bodily injury ever can be.”

“You watch Jackass? I’d tap Johnny Knoxville.”

Richie doesn’t have to see Eddie to hear that he makes a face.

“Gross. Isn’t he the one who stapled his balls to his thigh?”

“No, that was Steve-O, the fucking madman. Wouldn’t fuck him. I feel like he’d have crabs or something.”

“Look, I know we’ve only known each other for less than six hours, but please take it personally when I ask you to shut your trash mouth and let me live in silence for more than five seconds.”

Richie counts to thirty and holds the cafeteria door open for Eddie.

“Speaking of crabs, I’m starving.”

Eddie literally gags and dry heaves, and Richie has to support himself against the wall as he loses his shit laughing.

“ _Richie_! I think I just threw up in my fucking mouth!”

“Now that’s hot.”

Another muffled, close-mouthed scream as Eddie physically shoves Richie toward the cafeteria cacophony resonating from the open glass doors. 

“Please, _stop_ , I’m begging you.”

“But you’re just so fun, Eds! Like a new toy who’s guilted into playing with me -”

“How lonely is your life -”

“Hey, do you happen to see a sexy grunge redhead with a relatively boring looking guy plus a hot white bro and a tall drink of hot chocolate man?” Richie asks as he screeches his Converse to a halt despite Eddie’s pushy hands on his back.

“What the hell are you -” Eddie peeks around Richie’s shoulder and if that isn’t adorable, Richie doesn’t know what is. Eddie could be ugly as sin but this was _cute_. “Okay, yeah, I guess I do.”

“ _Sweeeet_. Those are my friends.” Richie only has to roll his shoulder and angle his body to drape an arm over Eddie’s shoulders and, yeah, his slim build is more obvious like this. Definitely a little one. “Come eat with us.”

Eddie ducks out from under him faster than the first chick Richie had sex with.

“Th-that - that’s okay, Richie. I’m not exactly - with new people -”

“They’re harmless. Nicer than me, anyway.”

“That’s hardly a decent scale to work off of.”

“Brutal. I’m fucking charming.”

Eddie sputters and sighs, talks with his hands in a way Richie wishes he could clearly see. 

“I don’t have the energy to argue with you. I’m sure getting help from your friends will be much better than from a stranger.”

“Stranger? But we’ve bonded so much over the past -”

“Listen, I’ll see you around, okay?” Eddie waves, or at least Richie thinks he does, because his voice is fading and he’s walking backward but away from him. “I hope you get your glasses thing sorted out.”

“I will,” Richie says faintly, frowning after Eddie’s quick retreat. Then he shrugs, turns, and yells. “BILL? _BILLIAM_? ARE YOU THERE, HONEY? I’M LOST AND I CAN’T SEE AND -”

The Blob That Would Be Bill darts into Richie’s view, hand on his wrist.

“Richie, _where_ are your glass-”

Grinning, Richie reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out his fucked glasses and sets them on his face. The refracted viewing lens instantly makes him want to puke.

“You like? I hear this style is all the rage with losers across the country.”

Bill groans and snatches the glasses off.

“Did you break them in class or something? Don’t you have doubles back at the dorm?”

“Sure do, buddy ol’ pal,” Richie agrees as he allows Bill to lead him to the group table. “But they weren't worth going back for. I just had the best morning, so I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Somewhere out there, Richie is sure Eddie just felt the cold hand of death over his shoulder from being compared to a horse. Richie can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. 

Next time, he’ll put the face to the name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie doesn’t flinch. He’s a goddamn pro. I fucking master of taming the heckler.
> 
> “Unfortunately, I lent my sombrero to _your mom_ and she never gave it back. Maybe ask her for it next time you see her.”
> 
> Richie blinks. Feels his chest swell and burn in an entirely unfamiliar way as the party sharpens, folds in on itself, and focuses to a pinprick on Eddie alone.
> 
> “Oh boy,” Bill’s voice drifts in faintly. “This is going to be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A specific playlist for this fic can be found [HERE ON SPOTIFY](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3qxCWrRot2atyJtQMRVqJ8?si=2KwE0AH9Snm-zYdS86jmfA). Naturally, everything is circa 2001or below. Many of the songs can, do, and will correspond with the story, if you're into that kind of thing. Let me know if you enjoy!
> 
> ALSO: there are a couple links in this chapter, I won't spoil why, but you'll understand when you get there

_Eddie Spaghetti, you little fucker._

Not only has Richie been actively keeping an eye out for a guy who might resemble the Vague Blob That Is Eddie, but Tuesday rolls around and Richie gets up early _just_ to stand outside his door and play Pokemon Crystal on his Game Boy until Eddie inevitably emerges for the class he had skipped last week on behalf of Richie.

Which, he doesn’t, and while Richie gets in a good chunk of gaming time before his morning class, he’s also totally motherfuckingly _perplexed_.

Is that gremlin avoiding him, Richie wonders as he crosses campus in the perpetual drizzle of the day, totally forgetting to pull his hoodie up as he purposely jumps in a puddle, scuffed plaid Docs saving him from wet feet. He isn’t that off putting, is he?

They’d had fun. Eddie had even laughed - twice! Well, half-laughed both times, which equates to one full good laugh. 

These things _mattered_.

Of course, Eddie isn’t the only person Richie has met or gotten along with in this first week. He’d attended the Commons Area party last Saturday night, a joining between the guys and girls wing of their residence. Eddie’s MSN and AIM is stockpiled with screen names and friends and whatever else. He is rolling in attention.

So why is he being avoided by _this one guy_? Richie has to wonder if Eddie actually feels that guilty about his glasses and is hiding from him out of embarrassment. Eddie does have the one-up on Richie in that he can spot him coming and run in the opposite direction. Richie won’t know Eddie until he hears him talk, probably.

Also, Richie _really_ wants to see Eddie’s face when he realizes that Richie had an extra pair of glasses all along.

Snickering to himself, Richie automatically holds the door open for a guy walking toward the same entrance. He’s busy thinking of Eddie, but not enough that he doesn’t give pause, eyebrows raising to admire the ass of a guy in unreasonably tight jeans with purposeful rips from thigh to knee.

Said guy actually whips his head around like The fucking Exorcist, dark eyes narrowed like molten murder and Richie quickly averts his gaze and looks as innocent as possible, saying nothing.

ANYWAY.

Saturday rolls around and it’s another party in the Commons, and this time Richie decidedly puts Eddie the forever mystery out of his head. They’d had fun that morning, but it isn’t the end of the world. Life moves on and Richie doesn’t yet feel like he’s sinking beneath the stress of college, or at least how everyone hypes it up to be. He’s going to have fun and fuck everyone’s mom if they tell him otherwise.

Every couch and table is shoved to the periphery, crunching together a sweaty clench of pulsing, writhing bodies both laughing and singing along with _Get Ur Freak On_. The kegs are free-flowing and the solo cups are spilling over peoples’ heads as they raise them up to dance. The Commons feels smaller like this, with the lights out but for some deliciously tacky black lights ala Spencer’s making the herd of bleach blondes glow and white sneakers dizzy Richie’s vision.

Last time Richie saw Bev, she’d crawled up Ben like a spider monkey and sat on his strong shoulders to lead the party in a rousing - or, arousing, let’s be real, it’s Bev - rendition of _Teenage Dirtbag_. Mike is trying to harass DJ into playing Usher, and Bill has found some longtime pal, Stan, who is apparently his friend through their parents. Turns out, Stan grew up just outside of Derry, so he’s basically family, anyway.

Richie, though - Richie has a mission. And he’s currently unabashedly sweating buckets as he challenges asshole after asshole at DDR. Some blessed nerd has hooked his PS2 up to the big screen in the lounge and it feels just like being at the arcade. This is one of the many reasons why nerds will always be top of Richie’s list in life. They get shit done.

He’s stripping off his flame-printed bowler shirt and twirling it in the air with a battle scream as another loser drops and literally crawls away, legs unable to withstand the power that is DDR on Maniac Mode and Richie’s shitty sportsmanship.

“Suck my asshole, Brad or Chad or whatever the fuck your name is. The art of Dance Dance Revolution is about unwavering unhealthy obsession and _stamina_ , and Richie Big Dick Tozier can go _all_ night l-“

“This is really your best friend, Bill?” Richie whirls around to grin at that guy, Stan, staring at him sourly with folded arms. 

Bill is one too many drinks to the wind, so to Richie’s benefit he just kind of grins and says, “Yup. He’s ours.”

“He’s not a dog, Bill.” Stan eyes Richie, who lifts the hem of his Weezer tee to wipe the damp from his face. “Even so, you should probably have trained him better.”

“I’ll have you know I’m house broken and everything. Might hump your leg, though, no promises.”

“No one beat you yet, huh?” Bill asks, totally ignoring him.

“Nah.” Richie waves it off and snatches Bills cup to drain it. 

“Actually,” Stan says, and for a moment his eyes light up in ways that make Richie think of satan and suddenly Richie knows he’s going to love this man. “I may have a challenger for you, if you think you can go another round without going into cardiac arrest. You look like you’re dying.”

“Listen.” Richie uses Bill as a leaning post, emphatically jamming a finger in Stan’s face. “My dedication for living in my basement to solely practice DDR in preparation for moments like these is unmatched. Bring it on, Stanley.”

Stan coolly eyes Richie’s finger.

“Whatever you say. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he disappears into the crowd, leaving Richie and Bill grinning at each other like the idiots they are. 

“Having fun?” Bill asks.

“Dude, like, _the most_ fun. I couldn’t be having more fun than I am in this very -“

“Stan, no way -“ a familiar voice giggles - _giggles_ \- “ _Stop_ , I’ll fall on my fucking face and -“

The crowd parts like the guy approaching is Jesus or was that David or Moses, FUCK, this is why his parents stopped taking him to church. That and how he’d sneak off to the bathroom to play Legend of Zelda.

The person who steps into the small circle encompassing the two DDR mats is, well, Eddie.

He’s smiling at Stan in a self-conscious, shy kind of way, his tan face flushed, teeth perfectly ungodly _perfect_ , dark hair with a fray of curl from the humidity and heat of the party. He’s wearing a red polo, but he doesn’t pop the collar like all those fucking douchebags, and when Richie’s attention drops from the sliver of bronzed skin between shirt and belt, he notices the jeans. Way too distressed and ripped ragged across the thighs, exposing skin and more skin. The spotlessly white Adidas.

Richie’s mouth is catching flies when he looks up, and at the same moment Eddie seems to realize what’s going on.

“You!” Richie points accusingly. “I held the door open for you and you didn’t say anything!”

“Oh, _now_ you recognize me?” Eddie’s hands fist on slim hips and holy moly ravioli, is his angry face _delightful_. “You were more interested in my ass it was no surprise you didn’t see my face.”

“First of all, I was appreciating. Second, I didn’t know what you look like, so if you’d have just said something -”

“And get swindled into hanging out with you again?” Eddie scoffs and, instead of turning around and leaving like Richie expects normal people to do, stomps into Richie’s space and digs a finger into his chest. “I saw you later on that same day on Tuesday and you damn well had those ugly-ass glasses on! You had an extra pair all along, didn’t you? I had to skip my first class of the semester because I felt bad for you, but mark my words that _pity_ will be the last thing I _ever_ aim your way again.”

“Pity tends to be the first emotion I evoke in people,” Richie says, grinning and looming over Eddie, who doesn’t seem to given a flying fuck that Richie’s nearly a head taller. “That, or awe. Pure, raw inspiration. Oooh, _raw_ is a good word, isn’t -”

“So is _vile_ , which you _are_.”

“So,” Stan says. “Clearly you know each other. Introductions are not necessary.”

“Is this the guy who broke your glasses?” Bill asks, frowning.

“You broke his glasses?” Stan says, turning to an Eddie with a face rising the color of his shirt.

“It was an accident!”

“Well, no one is implying you went up to him and slugged him,” Stan says, eyebrows raised. “Not that it wouldn’t be totally justified, considering.”

“Awww.” Richie dives in and throws an arm over Eddie’s shoulders, to which Eddie hisses like a feral cat and unearths himself. “Don’t worry, Eds -”

“Eddie.”

“All is forgiven. Hatchet under the bridge. Burying the water.”

“ _Where_ is my drink?” Eddie squawks, spinning around to snatch the one Stan is holding. He downs it in one, his adam’s apple working hard, and Richie’s smile only notches wider at the sight.

“Drinking does often help with the whole -” Bill gestures to Richie’s curly mop to his trusty tartan Docs, “thing.”

“ _Thing_ is a good word for it,” Eddie mumbles into his cup.

“Like John Carpenter’s _The Thing_?” Richie muses with lips pursed. “I dunno, Eds. I kinda like it. That Thing was unkillable.”

“Congratulations,” Eddie says as he sets the cup inside a tower of finished cups precariously balanced in the middle of the floor, “You’re a virus _and_ an alien. It all makes sense, now.”

“Does that make you Kurt Russell?” Richie says, pocketing his hands and ducking his head far down to catch Eddie’s eyes with a toothy smile.

Eddie doesn’t flinch. He’s a goddamn pro. I fucking master of taming the heckler.

“Unfortunately, I lent my sombrero to _your mom_ and she never gave it back. Maybe ask her for it next time you see her.”

Richie blinks. Feels his chest swell and burn in an entirely unfamiliar way as the party sharpens, folds in on itself, and focuses to a pinprick on Eddie alone.

“Oh boy,” Bill’s voice drifts in faintly. “This is going to be a problem.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Eddie barks, snapping Richie out of whatever that was. “Did you already leave Earth? Fuck it, I think I _do_ need to battle you. You’re the one, right? Stan told me some douche was bragging and I needed to take his rights away.”

“You can have _all_ my rights,” Richie says dumbly before he realizes his mouth has betrayed him. “Wait, you? _You’re_ the guy? Oh, this is gonna be _hilarious_. I hope you enjoy losing, Spaghetti Man. This is one thing I won’t let you have.”

“Oh no,” Stan barely has time to say before Eddie is shoulder-checking Richie on his way to the DDR mat. 

“Lose?” Eddie looks over his shoulder with a cocksure grin that just about has Richie begging on his knees. “That’s the only funny joke you’ve told so far, dumbass.”

“Methinks those britches are too big for such a wee chap,” Richie says in one of his Voices as he makes a show of stretching his arms and hamstrings. He notices Bev, Ben, and Mike pull up for the show, confusion on every face as Bill leans in to explain.

“And your head’s too big for your body, but no one’s pointing that out,” Eddie fires back, then mutters as he uses his pristine sneakers to tap through the menu through the mat, “Lollipop on legs.”

“You could lick me like a l-”

“Are we playing on Maniac or what?” Eddie snaps, his dark, dramatic brows all scrunched as he flicks through the songs. 

“Obviously. You can handle that?”

“Maniacs are my specialty,” Eddie says flatly, pausing through his song scroll. “Let’s do _[Dead End](https://youtu.be/v0wwzq8oFq4)._”

“Sure, fine, whatever, let’s do it, do me, do me,” Richie responds without thinking, because he’s lubed up with beer and the competitive fire in Eddie’s eyes is revving his engines like nobody’s business.

When the song information flashes before them, Richie nearly swallows his tongue when he realizes his is a level nine. He hadn’t been playing anyone at a nine because, well, bitches just can’t handle that. Richie barely can at his best - and a little liquored up? God _damn_.

When literal _red alert sirens_ begin whooping and screaming with the song’s introduction and Eddie actually laughs, like he’s fucking excited now, Richie starts to sweat for _other_ reasons than his general lack of good health.

What follows is the longest ninety seconds of Richie’s life, next to the time his mom caught him jacking off the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. The pace is ruthless, relentless, and Richie has to concentrate harder than playing the drums or stats class or _not looking at what Eddie is doing right now_. Because he can fucking _see_ the cut screen beside him and Eddie’s perfect scores are shooting higher than Richie’s load.

At some point in the dance there are gasps and a literal whoop of glee that may or may not have been Mike, of all people. The sirens are shrieking again and Richie is jumping like a goddamn baboon, sweat trickling down his back as races toward the end. Heavy bass is thundering, dropping hard as Richie and Eddie finish their final jumps, Richie’s lungs burning for air as he heaves forward, hands on his knees to look between the screen and Eddie.

“FUCK YEAH.” Eddie is taking a running leap at a horrified Stan, jumping on him and hooting with the win, his face barely even red. The hair at his temples is damp but otherwise he’s a fucking _picture_ of adorable as he launches toward Richie now, smile a mile wide and sharper than his cute face should be able to pull off. “Whatcha think, Tozier? Do _you_ enjoy losing?”

“Okay, _one_ , you are _clearly_ more sober than I am -”

“That wouldn’t change a damn th-”

“Someone get this kid shots! SHOTS, I DEMAND THEM. Yes, bring the entire bottle Bev, you manic pixie dream-”

“ _Fuck_ you, I could drink ‘til I’m half blind and my feet would still be faster than your giant clown shoes.”

“I could make a dick joke right now -”

“That’s your name isn’t it, so _you’re_ the entire joke -”

“- but I’m _fired up_ , Eds, I _really_ fuckin’ am, you -

“Where are those shots? Right, yes, gimme two, I’ll double fist the bitches, watch -”

“You really _are_ a gremlin! I mean, I had a feeling you were, but you look so fucking vanilla boy band I wasn’t sure if you had it in you. No more alcohol for Eds, everyone, he’s a Gremlin, it’s official -”

“ _Do_ you or do you not want me to drink, fuckhead? I’m two shots in now and you’re talking a _hell_ of a lot for someone who -”

“Fine, let’s do this! AGAIN.”

“FINE.”

Richie and Eddie spin in tandem to address the screen, neither of them smiling now. Oh yeah, Richie was going to fuck this guy sideways.

From behind, Ben speaks in awe.

“I kinda feel like I’m watching history in the making.”

“Oh, we definitely are,” says Bev. “I just can’t tell if this is a mating dance or -”

“Murder,” Stan says. “Knowing Eddie, it’s probably murder. That guy takes no prisoners once he’s pushed too far.”

“[ _Hot Limit_](https://youtu.be/F-tA8-g1cd0)!” Richie declares, and at this point there are a dozen or more people surrounding them. “Long version, like my _dick._ ”

“Must run in the family,” Eddie says as he chooses the song with a violent stamp of a foot. “‘Cause your dad’s dick was huge when I fucked him, too.”

And everyone is fucking _screaming_ at the burn, and Richie is smiling like a true maniac because _he can’t help himself_ , and neither of them can really hear the music when it starts up because it’s so damn loud and someone is playing _Fat Lip_ in the background, but Richie’s eyes are all for those arrows, and they GO.

He and Eddie are moving in tandem, the sounds of their feet like drums in perfect sync, a sound like heaven to Richie’s ears. His heart is banging in time to Eddie’s movements, and even though the song lasts double the time of an average one, the further Richie matches Eddie, the more he feels like he’s flying.

They tie.

Richie takes no shame in dropping back on his ass in the middle of the mat and using his shirt to wipe at his sweaty face. His chest is heaving, and when Richie looks to Eddie, the guy is glowing from the inside out, staring right at him, and smiling with pure joy. 

And fuck if he doesn’t have the cutest dimple Richie has ever seen.

“Hey,” Eddie walks over and drops to a crouch before him. Their faces have to get close to hear over the shouting and cheering, the singing-along to _What’s My Age Again_ in the back, Richie’s friends riotously talking over each other. This close up, Eddie’s aren’t brown but hazel with flecks of grey, pretty. Richie’s chest burns again, weird. “Wanna go again?”

Richie pauses but can’t help the smile.

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

They go. And they go. The student-acting-as-DJ takes his shit and someone is playing stacks of CDs on the boombox as groups of students fade, while others start to push the couches and chairs back together in smaller clusters to lounge and talk over the music. Jack White is singing, _I can tell that we are gonna be friends_ , and Eddie finally collapses with bright, loud laugh, spread out like a star on the floor.

“Eds, Eddie, Eduardo,” Richie groans, literally crawling on all fours from his mat to where Eddie lays out, smiling at the ceiling, both of them more than a little drunk and stinking of sweat and Captain Morgan. “I’m so tired. I’m _so tired_ , man, you win. You are the king, _my_ king, and I am your peasant, your - your, what are they even - surfs. I’m totally surfing for you.”

“Tha’s not how it works,” Eddie drawls, and the snippy-snap staccato of his usual speech has drifted and slurred, his eyes falling shut as Richie looks down on him. “‘N don’t sweat on me. Fucking disgusting.”

“I can think of worse fluids to get on you. Or better, depending on how you look at it.”

“Would rather be doused in lighter fluid,” Eddie murmurs, smiling all dreamy-like, his hair sticking up in all directions from running damp hands through it time and again.

“You talk arson so sexy.”

“ _Mmhmm_.”

Richie stares at Eddie a little longer, lips twitching at the little cartilage hoop he has pierced in his upper ear and the faintest smatter of freckles beneath the natural tan. Eddie’s eyes roll around behind his closed lids, but he doesn’t open them, and when that burning in Richie’s chest returns, he promptly rolls and stands. 

“Richie,” Mike calls from across the room where the Losers are gathered on couches. “We’re heading out, man. Need help getting him back to his room?”

“I’ll do it,” Stan says, groaning like an old man as he gets to his feet.

“I’m the scoundrel that tired out the poor boy,” Richie says proudly. “I’ll be the one to put him to bed!”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Stan says, and even from across the room his satan eyes are back. “Don’t find out what happens if you don’t. We’re room 217.”

“Wait, he’s _your_ roommate?” Richie asks, but nobody answers because they’re all getting their lives together and making their way to the stairwell. 

It takes a bit of doing, but Richie convinces Eddie to lean on him, and Eddie only scratches him on the arm once for it. They made for the elevator, Eddie sighing and draping his weight against Richie’s body despite the fuss he’d made in the first place.

“You’re pretty strong for a little guy,” Richie says as he keeps a firm arm around Eddie’s slim waist. There’s no fat there, though, it just feels like solid man. 

“Yeah, well -” Eddie waves a hand around, blithe and limp. “I’ve always been a fucking loser, so I needed to have _something_ going for me. Started with gymnastics when I was a kid, but the _fairy_ thing got old real fast and I dropped out. Did track for, like, ever.” 

Before Richie can comment, Eddie looks up at him and smiles, wide and pristine, if not a little droopy in the eyes. 

“Told’ja my feet are faster’n yours.”

“That you did, my good sir, that you did.”

They make it to Eddie’s room unscathed, minus the time Eddie steps on his foot - which, at this point, they are swollen and relatively numb from the sheer amount of dancing they’ve done tonight, so it doesn’t entirely matter. The door is wide open and Stan is nowhere to be seen, and so Richie helps Eddie topple onto the bed that he assumes is Eddie’s only because there are a surprising pair of dumbbells beside.

The guy was interesting, Richie would give him that. And a lot more. 

“Wait!” Eddie shoots up, looking around wildly, his grasp sudden and tight around Richie’s arm.

“AH, what!” Richie all but shrieks, not expecting that at all. 

“I’m disgusting,” Eddie wails, flopping back in bed. “I need to shower.”

“Dude.” Richie laughs and begins to shuck Eddie’s shoes and socks off. “You’re totally fucked up. Shower tomorrow.”

“I hate myself,” Eddie announces dramatically as he rolls in bed and shoves his face into a pillow. “I laid on the floor. Do you know how many germs are on the floor? How many people stepped in dog shit today and walked on that floor? How many times does the janitor even _come_ to this hellhole? I mean, you’ve _seen_ the shower drains, right? The balls of hair look like fucking _rats_ , Richie - rats!”

Richie pointedly does not look at Eddie’s ass. That already got him in trouble once.

“Sounds like a problem for Future Eddie and not Current Eddie,” Richie says, braving it and sitting on Eddie’s bed, his hip pressing Eddie’s warm side. “Maybe get some sleep and pick up this particular tirade tomorrow. I’d be happy to listen. I’m in 237, anytime. Most of the time. I mean, that’s pretty much the only place I ever am. I don’t have a life.” 

To Richie’s dawning joy, Eddie laughs into his pillow, his slim shoulders shaking with it. 

And then he passes out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on _The Thing_ \- Kurt Russell wears a sombrero for much of the movie. If you haven't seen it, I don't know why you haven't. And not that remake bullshit.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, I loved thriving in 2001 and I hope you enjoy these idiots do it too.


End file.
